Desire
by OurMrsParker
Summary: One-shot. Marion's thoughts on desire and a certain archer who has crossed her path. Set early in the movie. Rated M for steamy dream fantasies. Read and review.


One-shot. Marion's thoughts on desire and one archer in particular by the name of Robin Longstride. Set somewhere in between that first night with Robin in her chambers and their dance together. First 2010 Robin Hood fanfic. Definitely Robin/Marion, with mention of Marion/Robert. Please read and review.

I have never felt desirable. I have had no need to. There was always work to be done on the fields and people to care for. I had no time to make myself all that presentable. When I was old enough to be courted, I knew that it would never be out of genuine interest. Robert Loxley courted me out of duty, not lust. It was pleasant, of course, but I knew I would never fall in love. Even on our wedding night, I did not feel desired or wanted in the way I thought I should have. I did not know what to expect back then—I had heard tales, mostly servants' talk about the details of how a woman's wedding night was supposed to be—but it did not end up like that. It could have been worse, I suppose. In the end it was short and sweet, which was not so bad for me. I had no need for desire in my life. I felt no desire in return. I did not lust after Robert. Not while we courted, and not after he left for the Crusades. I did think of him, though. I thought of him often those ten long years, but not concerning our marriage. I thought of how he could have helped the land and the villagers. I thought of how he could have kept the tax collectors away. But I did not think about how we could have spent our nights. I did not long for him to share my bed. I have never felt a desire for him. Truthfully I have never felt a desire for anyone.

But all of that changed the moment Robin Longstride rode into Pepperharrow bearing Robert's sword. Immediately I felt differently than I have ever felt around a man. All Robin has to do is look at me, and I have to take a moment and catch my breath. It is the intensity of his gaze, the way his eyes bare into my own as if he can see straight into my very soul. It is not just his eyes, however. I must admit that he is overall very pleasing to look at. He is indeed handsome—far more handsome than Robert ever was—but he is modest. He has only been here two short days and I know for certain that he is a humble and modest and a very handsome man.

And in two short days something in me has stirred. Robin only has to speak my name and I can feel my entire body flush crimson and I get very warm. He makes me feel like a woman. Not a daughter-in-law, not the caretaker of my five thousand acres. Not an abandoned wife left alone for ten years. For the first time in my life, I feel like a desirable woman, with needs and wants and wishes all of her own.

I dreamt about him last night. I dreamt about him the night before as well, the first night he slept on the hearth of my bedchamber. That first dream was chaste and innocent compared to my dream this past evening. I find myself longing for him. Longing for his touch. He was an archer in the Crusades, so his fingers are nimble and quick, rough and callused. I want to feel those callused fingers moving softly over my skin. His rough hands gliding over me, sliding my gown past my shoulders and letting it fall in a puddle at my feet.

My dreams transform my longing into a fantasy. I dream he comes to my bed, kneading the knots out of my shoulders while I rest. I dream his lips replace his hands, and he kisses his way from my shoulder to my neck. The Robin of my dreams whispers things in my ear that even when I am awake and I remember those words, they make me blush and go weak at the knees. This Robin touches every inch of my body. Spends countless hours memorizing my curves and my flaws. Those hands travel further down my body to the place right between my thighs. He makes me sigh and moan as his lips finish what his hands started. In my dreams he tells me I taste like honey, and I have to clutch at the post of my bed to keep myself grounded as he tastes me, sucking every drop of honey I have to offer to him. The nighttime fantasy Robin becomes the lover I never had, making love to me from when the moon peaks out above the trees to when the birds begin to sing in the early hours of the morning.

My dreams these past two nights have begun to carry their way into the forefront of my mind during waking hours. I find myself simply staring at Robin during the day and enjoying the remnants of my nighttime fantasies, envisioning him inviting me into his bath or climbing down off his horse and taking me in the fields. My body aches constantly, night and day, for his touch.

I finally feel desirable when I am around him. I notice how he looks at me, how he speaks when I am present. There is a deeper need in his eyes, a husky undertone to his voice that I know is meant for my ears only. I want to feel with him. I have finally felt the desire that I see in the village girls at dances. The desire that the servants speak of when they think no one is listening. I desire Robin in a way that I did not deem possible until I met him. No longer am I Lady Marion Loxley of Nottingham. I am simply a woman named Marion, desiring the flesh and the hunger of a man named Robin.


End file.
